


what i build, i build for you

by unicyclehippo



Series: Blue Girls Have The Most Fun [42]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: F/F, beau has proficiency with the jewellers kit & i personally think everyone should rmbr that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:27:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25645801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unicyclehippo/pseuds/unicyclehippo
Summary: prompt: on the no-magic beau track, and since people keep doing magic to make jester feel better: beau tries to keep pace with the others in her attempts to console jester and it maybe gets out of hand
Relationships: Jester Lavorre/Beauregard Lionett
Series: Blue Girls Have The Most Fun [42]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1824289
Comments: 5
Kudos: 138





	what i build, i build for you

Beau returning late in the night isn’t rare, isn’t anything uncommon. It’s just that usually she smells of sand and sweat and ale and returns with a swagger to her step that screams of victory. Bruises she’s never shy at showing off. Sometimes a sack of coin, which she uses to buy them all drinks - and not the cheap shit, as she'd say, but a bottle of good wine that she and Nott bicker over, talking about _notes_ and _mouthfeel_ and _vintage_ as they get progressively less sober.

Tonight, and the last few nights they’ve stayed in the Xhorhaus, it’s been different.

Beau eases the door to the balcony open, slips inside. She obviously didn’t expect Jester to still be awake from the way her eyes widen behind her goggles but she recovers quickly, throws her an easy smile as she tries—and fails—to hide her bandaged hand behind her back.

‘Hey, Jes,’ she says. Chucks her chin up in a nod. ‘You're still up? What's wr- Is everything okay? Can’t sleep?’

‘I’m alright,’ Jester tells her. ‘Are you?’

Beau cocks her head to the side. ‘Huh?’

‘Your hand.’

Beau shifts, hiding it fully behind her back on reflex. For a moment, as a wave of stubborn guilt washes over Beau’s face, Jester is struck full in the chest with adoration, breathless with it, so easily able to imagine Beau as a child, a teen, always with the same mulish expression. As soon as it comes, the expression washes away. 

‘It’s fine,’ Beau says, looking a little gruff, a little abashed, she pulls her hand out so Jester can see it.

The bandage is neatly done, that’s true, but Jester still wants to make sure. She moves to the end of her bed and reaches out for her. Beau obliges her.

The wrappings stick a little on whatever ointment Beau has applied; it smells strongly of antiseptic and something else, a little sour but not terribly so. Burn salve? Jester frowns. She's careful with it, taking her time. Beau starts to fidget but stills when Jester’s tail curls around her leg. A few quiet moments pass and then,

'Stop that,' Beau grumbles, laughs despite herself when Jester's tail drags up slightly to tickle behind Beau's knee, making her kick out.

Jester laughs. ‘Are you _ticklish_ , Beau?’

‘No.’

Jester grins up at her but doesn’t comment. After a moment, the bandage is off, just the end stuck wet with a yellow-tinged salve to her palm. Beau hisses as she peels it off, though Jester keeps up a litany of _Sorry, sorry, sorry_ ’s as she goes.

‘Washroom,’ she suggests. 'C'mon.'

They walk together into the next room. It doesn’t occur to either of them for Jester to drop Beau’s hand. It’s a small room and they have to crowd a little around the basin but the night is late and they are both tired and it is comfortable when Beau leans into wall, trusts Jester with the fate of her hand. Jester doesn’t need to, but she leans a little into Beau as well. The other girl smells sharp, beyond the scent of antiseptic. Like metal and fire. It’s a familiar smell, but not one common to Beau; Jester forgets about it in favour of healing.

Jester washes it clean and examines the burn—a straight glossy line across Beau’s palm—as she does.

‘Ouch.’

‘Looks worse than it feels,’ Beau tells her, but Jester thinks it might be a lie.

‘Mm. Hold on.’ Still with her hand under Beau’s palm, cupping it, Jester holds her other hand over Beau’s palm until they’re so close she can feel the heat radiating from the burn. The magic comes slowly after such a long day but it does come, smelling of cinnamon and oil paints and faintly of salt, all the smells of home she loves so dearly, and the green light falls like a shower of sparks from Jester’s palm to Beau’s. Jester doesn’t watch it; instead, she looks up at Beau’s face and watches as the tension drains from her jaw, the corners of her eyes.

‘Better?’

Beau's eyes flutter open. Her head rolls on her neck and she smiles the inch down to her. ‘Much. Thanks, Jes.’

Beau’s fingers tickle Jester’s palm. Callouses rasp over her skin when Beau pulls her hand back to examine it. The burn is still there but as if long healed and, when Beau closes her hand into a fist, there is no sign of pain or discomfort. She nods approvingly.

‘Nice work.’

‘Well, I _am_ a healer.’

‘Sometimes.’ Beau grins wide when Jester sucks in a breath, clearly affronted. ‘I’m kidding, I’m _kidding_ , you do amazing. _Amazing_.'

With eyes narrowed, Jester warns, ‘I know that spell today, that one that turns your veins black and mushy. So, you know, be very careful.’

They return to their bedroom. Beau changes into her sleep clothes and as she strips, Jester smells no sand or ale. Hadn’t when they were pressed so close in the small washroom either.

‘Hey, Beau?’

Beau grunts. Turned away, Jester listens as she steps into—no, out of her pants, stumbling a little when they catch around her ankles.

‘Where were you? Tonight, I mean? And, like, the last couple of nights?’

‘Just…doing stuff.’

‘Expositor stuff?’

Beau hesitates. Then, ‘No. No, uh, I was at a blacksmith.’

The surprise of that makes Jester roll over to face her; she catches her dressing still, moonlight seeming to appreciate her abs as well, silver light gilding the muscles.

‘Like what you see?’ Beau teases, waggles her brows. Her goggles are off now so she can’t see Jester’s darkening cheeks, just enough of the room illuminated to show that Jester _is_ looking. 

Jester hums. ‘Why were you at a smith? Were you making something? More throwing stars?’

‘Ah. Not exactly.’ Jester’s vision, on the other hand, is just fine and she watches as Beau reaches for the cloak she had tossed on the bed, toward one of the pockets. She stills, then pushes on. Pulls something out which she folds into her uninjured hand. ‘I was—uh—I know you’re worried about Travellercon-'

'Three thousand.'

'Right, sorry, Travellercon three thousand. And uh, y’know, Yasha and Cad are playing for you and Caleb and Fjord’ll probably do some magic stuff. Nott has something in the works I’m sure. And I can’t really—I thought—here,’ she says, coming around the bed and drops a handful of small metallic objects into Jester’s palm.

Metal wire, curled and shaped into pins, Jester realises. Small, simple archways, but delicately and carefully made.

‘For the cloaks you got,’ Beau explains. ‘I thought—it’s been a while since I’ve done something with my kit beyond popping the jewels out,’ she confesses, ‘but I thought I’d try.’ She sorts through them, pulls out a wonky version. ‘This one is the worst, it was the first one I did. The others aren’t so bad, I think.’

‘ _B_ _eau_ ,’ Jester whispers, awed. ‘They’re _beautiful_!’

‘Well,’

‘They are,’ she insists. ‘I didn’t know you could do this!’

‘Got a couple secrets still,’ Beau laughs. ‘Anyway. I’ll make a few more when I can, since we don’t know how many are gonna turn up.’

Jester just shakes her head. ‘Beau, they’re wonderful. Thank you.’ She finds that wonky pin, the archway not quite rounded, the working of the metal more obvious, and she sets it on her bedside. ‘This one is obviously mine.’

‘No, Jes, pick a good one—‘

‘I've picked,’ she tells Beau, tone decisive. ‘It’s perfect.’


End file.
